


Towers of the Void

by Vyranai



Series: The Spectre Files [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Angst, Awesome Darcy Lewis, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky's Inappropriate Thoughts, But we all knew that, Darcy is a strong and independent women, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Girls With Swords, Girls with Guns, Howard Stark is a thief, Oral Sex, Romance, Smut, The Scone Conundrum, super soldier darcy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2018-12-08 02:05:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11636688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vyranai/pseuds/Vyranai
Summary: Before there was Captain America, there was a trial run of the Super Soldier serum: enter Darcy Lewis, codename the Spectre. Fresh from his rescue in Austria, Bucky of course finds himself falling for the USSR's greatest pariah while trying to deal with his own issues. What begins is a romance stretching from war-torn Europe to the 21st century and beyond.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops! I seem to have fallen into the beautiful Wintershock fandom and cannot get out. Hello there and welcome to _Towers of the Void!_ My first ever Wintershock fanfiction. I've been working on this in notebooks for uh... well, much too long, never expecting it to see the light of day. Hope you like it.

Towers of the Void

The nightmares began the very evening of his unorthodox rescue. It was nothing new, using his arm as a makeshift pillow; an arm was considerably more comfortable than some hefty rock laid out upon the floor. The other men could hack the rocks, but he couldn’t. He’d tried it before and only succeeded in waking up with a stiff neck punctuated with sharp stabbing pains in his spine. Never again.

Around daybreak, they crossed the border out of Austria. At long last. The pace was slow due to the wounded, but they were making decent enough time. Bucky had been offered a ride on the stolen tank countless times, but he turned them down; walking, the steady crunch of his boots upon mud, rock and filth, was almost cathartic, staving away the pains still plaguing his body. At least, for now.

He positively burned, but chose to suffer in stoic silence; Steve had more pressing issues to think about and consider than his sorry ass. On second thought, that was burning too. Like he had a red hot poker shoved right up his-

Then he stumbled, knees almost buckling beneath him, betraying his body; Steve caught him before he fell, swiftly catching him about the elbow. “You okay?” the man asked, expression stained with concern.

Bucky nodded, straightening up and forcing out a smile. It wasn’t very convincing and Steve would see right through it. “Great. I’m great, Steve.” Lies. So many lies. He felt sick, almost lethargic. Ready to drop onto the floor like a wet towel.

Steve’s grip upon his arm tightened a fraction. “Buck,” he warned quietly, “don’t try to be a hero. You’re hurtin’.”

“Bein’ a hero is your job. Worried I’ll steal it from ya?” It was a weak attempt at a joke, but he still clapped his friend hard upon the shoulder, flashing him a lopsided grin. “Seriously pal, I’m fine. You concentrate on leading the masses back home, yeah?”

“You’re my friend, Buck.”

“Then as your friend, go on ahead. I’ll be fine.”

Steve’s voice dropped an octave lower. “Take the ride. Just for a while. You’ve been marching at my side, at my pace for three days now. And on hardly any rest.”

He had a point, loath as he was to admit it. Any longer and he was going to crash on the floor and become someone’s burden. Most likely Steve’s. Bucky laughed bitterly at the realization. “I can’t keep up with Stevie. How times change?”

“How they do indeed.”

 

At first he sits, the long barrel of the gun sitting smack bang between his legs, inviting the men to shoot him suggestive looks and wolf-whistles, good natured jokes and jibes. Eventually though, his body simply seemed to give up from sheer exhaustion and he woke up a few miles or so away from the Allies camp. At least he felt more rested, even if his back did ache something chronic.

“Damn,” the man walking on the right of the tank exclaimed as he sat up with a groan, “we was startin’ to think that you’d died!”

It transpired that he’d slept two days straight on the back of a tank. If he’d been screaming in his sleep again, no one mentioned it or gave him looks that suggested at it. Judging from the hollow faces and haunted eyes, he sincerely doubted that he was the only one plagued by the terrors of that room, that place in general. The needles, the pain and the burning…

It took all of his will to not throw up on the side of the tank, or on some poor bastard walking too close. God, he was a mess. A pure mess, both inside and out. That had to end.

Bucky slid down from the machine to stretch his stiff and unyielding legs, quickening his pace to occupy the empty space at Steve’s side. The right was constantly taken up by a fellow soldier, but the left? It remained empty. For him, Bucky realized in quiet amazement. No one could take his place. No one would even try to either.

The thought was humbling.

 

The relief was palpable all through the ranks of men as they made it to the bustling Allied camp to rapturous applause. Bucky was seeing double by that time and swiftly made his excuses, dashing behind a tent far out of the way so he could go to pieces in peace. He doubled over, biting his knuckle to muffle the cry of agony attempting to tear its way out of his mouth. The burning then proceeded to shoot down his spine, clawing at his insides with a brand-new hunger. With a gasp, he slid down the tent and sat upon the wet and muddy ground, panting heavily.

What had they done to him? What had been in those syringes, the substance that had made him see such terrible visions and horrors above him? It had given him strength. Had given them all strength, but nothing like this. The mixture killed the weak, culled them from the rest of the group. From the pleased voices, almost floating disembodied above him as he floated in and out of consciousness, he’d been the first to last so long. The others faded in mere hours, maybe a day if they were strong enough. But they died. They _all_ died eventually. He’d passed the first week in a blaze of agony, and the second just the same.

He lowered his head, placing his hands over his ears to drown out the laughter, the shouts and cries of pain from the wounded around him. Too much. It was simply too much. “Get your fuckin’ head back in the game,” Bucky cursed himself harshly. “You’re not there,” he whispered, heart hammering so hard it physically hurt his chest.

A hand caught his shoulder – just a gentle brush – but it was enough to make him jerk away violently as if he’d been burned, eyes wide and wild. He looked up, staring at the man as he held up his hands in the universal gesture of surrender, that he was no threat. “At ease,” he said gruffly. “Sergeant Barnes?” he asked carefully. Bucky nodded once and the man breathed a sigh of relief. “Captain Rogers has requested you in debrief.”

“Understood.”

The man smiled sadly. “You’re one of those fellas he rescued, right? From the compound?”

“Yes.”

“Rough shit, that. Take five more minutes to sort yourself out. I’ll tell them that you’re on your way.”

Bucky nodded, grateful. “Thanks.”

 

After the long and torturous debrief, he was finally allowed to somewhat relax until the next decision was made. The shower he took wasn’t warm exactly, just a strange series of pipes that Stark was apparently road testing, but it was glorious in soothing his bunched muscles and nerves. He spent much too long in there, his forehead resting against the pole of the tent to his right, eyes closed against the deluge. It was a strange fear to have, to worry about never being able to take a shower again. Or even a simple bat _h._ Or be clean in general.

_“If you’ve used all the slightly warm water, I will beat you with your own weapon, soldier!”_

Bucky’s eyes snapped open at the knock on the wooden post, the muffled disgruntled voice. Not a male voice, he noted dimly, but a female one. He twisted the shower off, wrapping the towel tight around his hips and gathering up his muddied clothes. Fresh ones would be waiting for him in his tent, they’d promised. Bucky pushed the canvas aside.

On any normal day, Bucky was sure he would have paid more attention to how beautiful the woman waiting impatiently on the other side was, but this wasn’t no normal day and he desperately desired a bed of any kind. He stepped aside, nodding in acknowledgement. Though pretty with dark hair and eyes, her lovely face was marred by the most unbecoming of scowls. “Sorry,” he grunted, not quite meeting his eyes as he walked past and into the gloom of camp.

 

The first few days were some of the utmost hardest. Sleep came in random fits, never lasting too long due to the nightmares that continued to pursue him at every turn. Bucky saw threats everywhere, even when they were nothing of the sort: a loud and unexpected shout and men running by. But the gunshots were the worst. He froze up every time one went off nearby, or even in the distance.

He decided to crack down on day five, refusing to be classed as weak no longer. He would master his fears until they meant nothing to him. It was impossible to overlook Steve and his second glances, worry clear in his eyes. _God, I feel like a baby._

The shooting range was nothing special, just a spit of land on the outskirts of camp, designated to marksmen. He was the only one present, so he set up his target at a decent enough distance and got down with his rifle, knocking off the safety and cocking it. Taking a deep breath and sighting along the weapon, he let off the first shot.

What should have tore through the target’s head went wide, catching the edge in an explosion of straw. The second missed it completely; Bucky swore, looking up from his rifle with a deepening scowl. “Motherfu-!”

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, soldier?”

Someone took the target to his immediate right, catching his target smack-bang in the heart with unsettling ease. Frustrated, Bucky looked to the soldier beside him and did a double-take, for it was not a man, but a woman. And even worse, he recognised the woman as the one who he’d met outside the shower.

She raised an eyebrow at his staring, cocking her gun once more. “Got a problem?” she challenged, tone and shoulders equally as stiff.

Bucky blinked. “No problem at all.” He nodded to her target. “You’re a crack shot.”

The woman looked to his target, at the pitiful mark he’d made upon it. He could almost feel the pity, the amusement rolling off her in veritable waves. “You want some help?”

The hell? “You tryin’ to say I’m no good?” he scowled, put out.

“Well… put it this way – I’d be nervous if I was the poor fellow standing _next_ to your target.” She actually laughed at him.

With a growl, Bucky primed the gun once more, making sure that his aim was true this time; the bullet tore directly through the target’s forehead. A tap later and his bullet hit right where her own had in its chest. When he turned back to the woman, she was grinning ear to ear. A test, he realized. _Fuck_. She knew that he wasn’t useless.

“See? All you needed was the right motivation. Lewis,” she introduced, holding out a hand.

He took it, nodding curtly. “Barnes.

“Say, are you perhaps the Captain’s Sergeant friend, Bucky?”

“I am,” he confirmed, pulling his hand back after a moment. She had a strangely strong grip. Reminded him of Steve. “You know Steve?”

Lewis laughed briefly, setting down her rifle. “You could say so, I suppose. I am uh, version one. Captain Rogers is my much improved version two.”

Bucky didn’t even attempt to hide his surprise. “You were in the Rebirth Project too? But you are a …” he held back the last word out of respect. Anyone who could shoot as well as she could was deserving of it.

She was no fool. “A woman?” she confirmed tartly. “Yes. Bother you?”

“Not at all,” he replied truthfully. “Gal I knew growing up in Brooklyn had an aim to make grown men cry in envy. Taught me everything she knew when war broke out again. Could shoot down a bird with a slingshot  with the smallest pebble.”

“She sounds like a swell girl.”

Bucky still couldn’t quite believe his eyes; a woman on the front line! And like Steve at that. Some of his fellows – no, most – would have laughed. Would have found it utterly hilarious, or a downright insult. A female super soldier! His own pa would have found the mere idea an abomination. But then, he never had been able to open his mind to new ideas and views like his children had.

He rose to his feet. “I’ll leave ya to the range. Pleasure makin’ your acquaintance, Lewis.” And it was.

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky gets some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I was amazed and humbled by the enthusiasm chapter one got. Thank you so much! <3 And now, enjoy chapter two.
> 
> And surely I cannot be the only one who was frustrated by the lack of effect Azzano seemed to have on Bucky in the movie? Wish that Marvel had given us at least a cutscene of Steve asking if his best friend was okay...

Bucky frowned as Steve slapped down a sheaf of paper. “What’s that?” Slowly he drew it towards him, reading the first line and understanding the moment Steve replied.

“An honourable discharge.”

He laughed softly, lounging back in his seat. Damn… he had never even considered such a thing now he was free. “They eager to be shot of me, then?”

Steve took the seat opposite, the chair screaming in disapproval as it was dragged across the stone floor. “Don’t think they quite know what to do with you. To be honest, I don’t either; you’re not fine, Buck. You hardly sleep, your appetite is… impressive, and your eyes… they’re not right.”

Of course Steve was picking up on everything, even those tiny details he hadn’t noticed himself. Bucky pushed the paper away as if it had burned him, rejecting its contents. “I don’t know anymore. Sometimes I wake up and think that I can still feel the needles under my skin. The burning and itching that came with them.”

A pause. “What do you think they pumped you with?”

There: the big question. The metaphorical elephant in the room. “Nothin’ good,” Bucky replied quietly, hands curling into fists upon the tabletop to hide the almost constant tremor running through them. “But I can’t help but wonder; it burned like a fever, and when it was over, I felt… different. Stronger, almost. Burned myself on the barrel of my gun yesterday, rookie mistake. This morning the damn mark was all but gone.”

“Bastardized version of Erskine’s serum, you think?”

It made awful, terrible sense; they’d seen what the serum could achieve, and just how dangerous it could be if used correctly in the case of Steve himself. Or incorrectly in the… freak with the red waxy face’s. “Maybe, but whatever they gave me, my body hasn’t grown like yours. Visibly, I look the same.” Except for the ravages of hunger and weeks of torture, he thought bitterly. Bucky could both feel and see his ribs all too easily these days.

Steve sighed wearily, running a hand distractedly through his hair. He did that often now, Bucky had noticed. He put it down to the crazy pressures placed upon him. “Maybe ask Darcy?” he suggested tiredly. “Sounds similar to the type she was given from your description.”

“Y’think it’s worth it?”

“Now I _know_ you’re not yourself – you’re asking if you _should_ talk to a girl. And she’s very… uh, pretty.”

Bucky just groaned, the smallest of smiles twitching at his lips. “Shut up Steve. You sweet on her?” It was worth suggesting it just to see the man’s eyes widen and watch him trip over his own words.

“She’s a very admirable woman, but I don’t…” he cleared his throat, expression almost a mix of nerves and guilt. “Darcy is… uh, Peggy’s younger sister. She told me. Peggy, I mean.”

“The pretty one, scorchin’ red lips and attitude to match?” Damn, she even sounded like Darcy.

“That’s her.”

Bucky was confused. “But she’s a Lewis? Shit, she married-?” He felt sick, guilty over the questionable thoughts he’d harboured of her during the long night hours alone after their first, rather brief meeting. Women were scarce, and women like Darcy even more so; she walked around the camp in the more fitting armour of a male soldier, paying no attention to the stares the men often afforded her – both from horror of her gender and lust. A married woman and he had…

“No, it’s her middle name. Didn’t want her actions to affect Peggy.”

That was only slightly better. “She’s a nice gal, Darcy. Selfless.”

“And no,” Steve chuckled. “Not married. Though she gets proposals from time to time. Turns out not all men hate the idea of a female super soldier.”

But Bucky still didn’t understand something. “Why her? Why a woman?” He stilled, wondering something. “They didn’t force her into it, did they?” he added with a soft growl.

“I’d like to see the person that could _force_ her into doing something.” Steve turned the letter of discharge to him, drumming his fingers upon the tabletop. “Don’t know the full story, but Peggy told me enough; Darcy wanted to fight, so she tried to pass herself as a man to enlist. ‘Course, she kept getting caught. It’s hard to hide the uh…” he motioned to his chest, spots of red appearing in his cheeks. “Yeah.”

Bucky smirked, staring directly at his friend. “Reminds me of someone else I know. Didn’t cross-dress too did ya?”

His jibe was ignored, though Bucky could have sworn the red deepened into crimson. “Well, last time she tried, she got caught. Agent Carter was hard pushed to secure a release for her while keeping their relationship a secret. Introduced her to Erskine and he took an interest in her spirit and hired her. She was already fast, agile and strong to a certain extent. Kind and strong-minded also. She was the perfect candidate for the first trials. He approached her about the test and she consented immediately.” Steve’s fingers ceased their tapping. “When it was evident that it worked, they planned to publicly reveal her, the first super soldier. But the higher ups… didn’t like it when they realized that their great miracle was a woman. Didn’t react well to the news. Darcy has never seen the war she was promised. She’s pretty much trapped in the shadows.”

Bucky fell silent for a good few minutes, thinking. “They won’t let her leave?”

“She’s a soldier that can rival me when pushed. That scares the top brass; they know that if she left, went public, the other women would demand that they fight the front line also. An uprising.” Steve rolled his eyes. “They’re scared of what she represents.”

Bucky found the news boiling his blood, searing his veins. “Fuckin’ bullshit! We’re all human and capable. Never met a dame _not_ tougher than a man. Darcy does not deserve to be hushed up like some dirty fuckin’ government secret.”

He knew he’d share his controversial views. Steve nodded. “I agree. Which is why when we go looking for those HYDRA factories, she’s comin’ with us.”

“You asked her yet?”

“Not yet, though I think we both know what the answer will be. Girl’s itching to get out of camp somethin’ bad. Meetin’ her tonight at that inn in town. Golden Horn?”

“I thought that you couldn’t get drunk?” Bucky accused with a raised eyebrow.

Steve shrugged. “Don’t stop me from tryin’.”

Now Bucky wondered something. “Can I get drunk? Can Darcy?”

An odd look crossed Steve’s face at his words. “…I asked her that. Her only reply was that she drank two litres of straight Russian vodka from Moscow, none of the weak stuff. Said that she felt a slight tingle in her left foot and nose.”

“A tingle? _Seriously?_ She should be dead after that.” Dead several times over!

“She’s as tough as old boots, Darcy.”

Was that a note of pride, _admiration_ Bucky could detect in his friend? “You sure you’re not sweet on her, huh?” he asked keenly.

Steve didn’t splutter this time, but merely laughed. “Oh no. I’ve never seen her as much as… uh, pay attention to a man in that way. She’s the lion, not the lamb. Why? You like her?”

“Nah, only spoke to her twice. Barely said anythin’.”

Though she had the most impeccable aim he’d ever seen on a woman. Or a man. Amazing, really.

 

“You are acting like a child,” Peggy noted in deep disapproval as Darcy knocked back yet another tankard. When she set it down with a resounding bang, she was left with a white moustache of beer froth.

“C’mon!” Darcy laughed, pushing the drinking vessel away from her to join the countless others. “Drink enough and I _gotta_ find something that’ll get me sozzled.”

“That is hardly an achievement. I am not your keeper, Darcy.”

“Look at the bright side – you won’t ever have to carry me home when I pass out.” She drew a new brew towards her, hiccupping slightly as she rubbed her mouth. “Leave me be and go moon over Steve.”

“Steve is not here. And I do not _moon,_ for your information,” she added tartly, staring down in distain at the new drink. Where was she even _putting_ all this-? Darcy drank like a sailor and swore like one too. _Mother would keel over at this._ Especially the fact her eloquent British accent was now tainted by the tang of America.

Darcy raised an eyebrow and nodded to the door. “Odd, because he seems to be right there. And with his catatonic, yet strangely attractive buddy. Steve!” she called, raising a hand in greeting and waving the pair over. “Hey Cap,” she greeted when they waded through the cloud of cigar smoke and maze of tables and chairs. “Sarge,” Darcy added when Bucky caught up.

“Commander,” Steve chuckled, accepting her one-armed hug and hard kiss to the cheek, the offending cheek then turning a blistering scarlet. “Agent,” he added upon seeing Peggy.

Bucky, bummed that he’d not received a similar greeting, frowned a fraction. “You’re a Commander?”

Darcy snorted, nudging his arm with a tankard. Well, one of them anyway, for the table seemed to be cluttered up with them. _Goddamn it, she can drink!_ “Hell no!” she exclaimed good-naturedly. “Gimmick, like Captain here.”

Steve pulled out a chair and sat down on it, the others following suit. “Men call Darcy the ‘Commander of Death,’” he explained quickly. “Well, the ones that have seen her in action.”

“Don’t forget ‘drunkard,’” Peggy muttered under her breath.

Bucky truly looked at the woman; with her braided back hair, tankard in hand and bright, beaming smile upon her lips, she looked like the sort that would cry over stepping on a bug. Killers came in all shapes and sizes, he reminded himself. Only this one wore scarlet lipstick. “That’s quite a title for a lady.”

She nodded, then suddenly let out a bark of laughter, smile growing once more. “Hey – between Cap and myself, you’re the only one here with a real, bona fide army given rank and title, Sarge!”

Steve actually chuckled. “Never thought of that.”

Darcy raised her tankard to Bucky. “We are imposters taking all the good names.” She took a long draught before setting it down, leaning back in her seat with her eyes still trained on him. “I much prefer my case name to this Commander lark – much more snappy. In the field I’m the Spectre. Giving folks a good ol’ shock because they never see me comin!”

“You’re fast?” Bucky guessed. And most likely much stronger than she looked.

She nodded. “Damn near invisible, especially in the dark. Men call me Batty also, but I don’t think they mean the fuzzy and flying type.”

A laugh slipped out of him before he could stop himself, rough and almost broken. Damn, it hurt his throat; it was the first real one he’d had in the week since he’d reached the camp. Even Steve was staring, a faintly amazed look on his face. After a few minutes he Captain came to, clearing his throat. “I’ll get drinks.”

When Steve returned and they were sat comfortably with drinks, Steve turned to Darcy. “Came to talk with you, actually. Got a proposition.”

“If it’s marriage, I’m not game.”

Bucky almost snorted into his drink.

“A serious one, Darcy.”

Interest piqued, Darcy inclined her head and fixed her eyes upon the Captain. “I’m listening. Does it involve breaking me out of this sorry excuse for a camp? Don’t know how much longer I can take nannying the local monkey population.”

“It does.”

“Then I am _very_ interested.” Her eyes slid to Bucky and she cocked her head inquisitively. “You coming on this proposition?”

He nodded. “Course. Steve’d get lost without me. And he can’t shoot worth a damn, whatever he claims.”

“Hey- I’m not bad at navigation.”

Bucky smirked around the rim of his drink. “Yeah, then why did we get lost twice on the way back, huh? And with a tank.”

“Not my fault the electrics interfered with the compass. Or whatever it did.”

“You keep tellin’ yourself that, sweetheart.” Bucky turned back to Darcy. “Though, you shoulda seen him before he got juiced up.”

“I did. He was more hopeless than he is now.” She snorted with sudden laughter, blowing into the drink and sending a wave into her face. Bucky watched, amazed as she simply groaned and rubbed it off using her sleeve, exactly as a guy would. “So… this proposition?”

Between Steve and Bucky, they explained everything. Of all things Bucky discovered, Darcy was _pissed_ about being left behind during the assault on Azzano. So that explained the silence in which Steve merely endured her quips instead of calling her out. Darcy’s excitement was palpable upon their words and she agreed instantaneously that she would join them on their ‘quest’ as she called it.

“Look,” Steve groaned eventually after suffering another dirty look from the woman, rubbing the back of his neck distractedly, “you know I’m sorry. But it was no place for a lady, even one with your training. You’d get hurt. I couldn’t have let you come.”

Darcy slammed the tankard down with a colossal _bang,_ contents spilling over. “Excuse me?” she hissed, positively glaring.

“Now you’ve done it,” Peggy muttered, climbing to her feet. “This is where I take my leave, gentlemen. Good luck.”

Darcy poked Steve hard in the chest with a solitary finger, getting to her feet. “Let me? _Let me!?_ I have beaten you in one-to-one combat, _mister._ I may not be built like a piece of rock and carry a tin can for a shield, but I can and _will_ destroy your puny Brooklyn backside if I must.” She now rounded on Bucky who immediately raised his hands in a gesture of surrender at the sight of her blazing eyes. “ _You._ ”

“I think Steve was in the wrong,” he supplied quickly, hands still up. “He should have taken you with him.”

Was that a smile he spied? Darcy tutted. “Come and dance with me, you little liar. I may start to forgive Steve a little then.”

“Well…” Bucky glanced to his friend; Steve looked flustered for better description. “Guess I gotta take one for the team, huh?”

Darcy caught his hand with a sweet, saccharine smile. “Good man.” She then proceeded to wrench him from his seat. Bucky was positively alarmed at the strength she wielded, and she wasn’t even nearly as tall as he was. Hell, she scarce came to his shoulders in times like this when she wasn’t wearing heels. Did Darcy even wear heels? Or own any? She was intending on dancing in her soldiers boots from the looks of things.

No wonder they called her the Spectre; you’d never, ever expect such a woman. Bucky had never even seen one like Darcy before, so comfortable in her own unique skin. She was a world away from Brooklyn and New York in general. He blinked as she led them onto the dance floor, the realization dawning on him that he been so preoccupied by her wit, soul of blazing fire and winning smile that he hadn’t even paid attention to what she was wearing.

Bucky cleared his throat and got to the main subject of the business.

“I wanted to ask a few things,” Bucky began quietly as they set up on the other side of the quaint space designated to dancing. It wasn’t much, built for just a few couples. He glanced down; Darcy wore a green dress. Not a dark green, but a long and rich emerald one that suited her perfectly. The tightness accentuated her slim form and curves. God, she had curves for days. On top of the dress was a military jacket, pulled snug around her.

Boots and a fancy dress. It shouldn’t have worked, shouldn’t have been so attractive, but it was. He was almost hesitant about placing his hands upon her warm body.

“Yeah? The guys usually do. What do you wanna know? Do I put out like a regular soldier too?”

“Jesus-!” Bucky exclaimed, hands stilling upon her slight form. “I wasn’t-!”

But Darcy laughed, cutting his horrified protest off. “Just messin’ with ya, Sarge.”

Damn… “I imagine that you’ve read the report on… Azzano?” The word burned in his throat, almost choking him to get out. “The… facility?”

Darcy nodded, placing a hand atop his shoulder, a shadow crossing her face briefly. “It was hard reading. I saw your report on what those bastards were up to. And what they did to you and the others. You’re a fighter, Sarge.”

“If I was a fighter I wouldn’ have been caught in the first place,” he replied in a low voice.

She squeezed his shoulder gently, tone just as soft. “You survived. I know that’s burning you alive, but you can’t let that happen.”

Her consoling words made him wonder what she knew of loss in the field. No one, especially not a woman, had eyes that haunted for no reason. Her unorthodox title, the Commander of Death… it had to come from somewhere.

“I wanted to ask you about your own serum,” Bucky asked, voice dropping an octave. “Did you change immediately, like Steve? Or was it more… drawn out? Gradual?” He wasn’t quite sure what answer he preferred, if any.

Darcy slowly began to move them around the floor, much to the chagrin of the other few couples; apparently mooching around during a fast paced swing was frowned upon. She didn’t particularly care what they thought. “It was not immediate. Not all of it. Though I got strength and endurance, I had to encourage it to set in my muscles. Ran every day until my body screamed and burned. God it burned. Wanted to die on a few occasions.”

A cold tendril of dread slid down his spine. “Like your chest might burst?” he ventured cautiously. “Your ribs splinter if you move too fast?”

The woman’s smile was sad. It really didn’t suit her beauteous face, Bucky thought. “I’d wager it’s some concoction they’ve created from Mr. Melty Face’s blood. Not perfect, obviously, as you’re experiencing the aches and pains I did, but good enough. I suggest running every morning, twice the distance you do already. Hard exercises after that. It’ll help speed it along. Took me bout’ a month to acclimatise. By that reckoning, you’re not far off being done cooking, Sarge.”

Bucky stumbled to a stop, bile rising in his throat. He felt disgusted, _violated._ Horrified that he and his squad had been subjected to such fucked up shit. Lab rats, he realized. Nothing more than disposable workers, pack animals. As soon as they were broken from physical labour, the mental torture would take over. The real torture.

“I need some… air-” Bucky all but tore himself away from Darcy, shouldering his way through the crowd and out of the inn.

Darcy gave him five minutes to compose himself, and then went outside after him.

She found him in the back alley around the corner from the inn, forehead pressed against the grimy red stone of the building. Her sensitive ears picked up on the telltale sounds of his ragged breathing immediately. Though she knew what was unfolding, she wasn’t quite sure that Bucky did.

“What’s happenin’ to me?” Bucky gasped, closing his eyes tight to block out the cacophony of sound inside his head. “Is it that fuckin’ _poison_ in me?”

Darcy patted his back soothingly, shaking her head. “No, Sarge. It’s panic. Shock and fear.”

A snarl and he shoved off her consoling hand, rounding on her. “I am _not_ a coward!”

“Save your act for someone who might give you an award. You’re losing your head. Don’t. Breathe and concentrate on evening out your breaths.” She was hardly fazed at all. _Same old,_ Darcy thought rather sadly. Too many soldiers had passed through in a similar state to the man before her.

Slowly but surely, his ragged pants slowed and returned to normal. But then shame replaced the awful panic. Terrible and overwhelming shame. “Leave me alone,” Bucky grunted, unwilling to meet her eyes.

Darcy didn’t move. “You’ll be fine, Sarge.” She took his hand in her own and squeezed it gently, reassuring him. “You need any assistance, come to me. Day or night.”

He nodded, voice constricted. “Thank you, ma’am.”

She laughed softly at that. “Darcy.”

“Then call me Bucky, not Sarge.”

“No.” Darcy’s hand finally let his own go. In that fleeting moment he missed the sense of closeness, of touch. “Everyone calls you Bucky. I’m calling you James.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky sees the Spectre in action and crushes on her some more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your continued enthusiasm for this story continues to blow me away! Thank you again for all the lovely messages and so many kudos, etc. It's an amazing type of motivation. For now though, I'm off to collapse into bed after an incredibly long and tiring day. So if there's any errors, blame my tired and weary brain.  
> Also, if there's any requests of what you might like to see in future chapters, request away! It would be fun to see if I can incorporate as many as I can into the story.

 Bucky took Darcy’s advice to heart, beginning a regime of running that bordered on obsessive. Twice a day he made himself to run for near two hours – more if he could wrangle the free time– and didn’t stop until he was forced to, barely able to stand from the sheer agony running down his legs and deep in his chest, or by Steve’s words about pushing himself too hard. By the end of the forth day, his body felt stronger already and he found himself able to endure more pain before he collapsed to his knees, chest heaving and breathing ragged.

Running gave him a moment to think, to worry about his family; there had been a formal apology from the top brass about the sending of his death notice to them, but Bucky couldn’t help but imagine the Barnes’ household’s reactions upon reading the stark words, seeing his mother burst into tears in his mind’s eye with every pounding step. And Rebecca… dear, sweet Becca, losing her brother… it would crush her. Bucky was assured that a man would personally visit the family to tell them the truth of their mistake, that he was alive and well, but it would come at least a week or maybe more after the initial notice. Rebecca may have been a year older, but Bucky knew that she was still a child in her heart.

They would be okay. They would be fine. It was the only thing he could repeat to himself, sounding almost like a mantra.

One of the only upsides was the fact Darcy joined him on his evening runs, meeting him outside of his tent an hour before sunset like clockwork, smiling as she greeted him with a cheerful “Evenin’ James.” She didn’t judge, didn’t stare with worry in her eyes like Steve tended to when he spotted him slipping off into the trees. Darcy was just… there. Support without saying a word the entire run, his stalwart companion. It was like he was a lost puppy and she had adopted him Steve once joked upon spying the pair of them returning for the evening.

A week after the regime began, she finally spoke as they set off on their evening run. The sky was darkening earlier than usual, dusk falling in shades of hot pink and sapphire blue on the horizon, a streak of gold setting the leaves above their heads a brilliant gold. Darcy spoke in hushed whispers as they finally left the earshot of camp.

“We’re being relocated to London.”

London? That was a surprise. Bucky was half-expecting (okay, fully expecting) to be sent straight back into the fold at Captain America’s side. “Steve finally speak with the General then?”

“Yes.” The setting sun caught her face at such an angle that the smile she gave him really was quite breathtaking. “And I am coming with you. Legitimately. Steve refused to fight at their command unless I was allowed to sign up and come with him. Of course that’s bullshit – we all know that Steve’d still fight anyway – but they swallowed it. I’m now a part of your ragtag little group of big and burly men.”

Bucky could have kissed the tight-arsed General right upon his chapped lips.

A rare smile broke through. “You serious?”

“As serious as a heart attack. By the way, you run much harder than this, you might actually have one.”

“It’s… cathartic. You were right about it helping.”

“Of course I am right! I’m amazing like that.”

He chuckled at her exuberance. “Modest, too.”

Darcy patted him upon the back, the pair of them coming to a stop. She wasn’t even out of breath. But then, neither was he now. “How _are_ you doing? I didn’t want to ask in camp – too many ears.” With a soft groan she leaned against a tree, closing her eyes against the roughness of the bark. It was a glorious sight as she leaned up, breasts pushing-

He looked away. “S’alright, I suppose. My legs feel better at least, and I can breathe more even now.”

“No more chest crushing?”

“No more chest crushing. Or explodin’ lungs.” He took a moment’s break also, crossing over and sinking down to the base of the tree. “Y’know, the guys in our group won’t like this, you comin’. Some might be unkind.” Bucky glanced up to hazard a guess at her reaction, but found himself blinking in surprise at Darcy’s broad smirk, staring down into his eyes with a fierce look.

“They have never seen nothing like me, James, I assure you; they laugh at me, I punch them back harder than the enemy would. I’m not here to be mocked, to be second-guessed. I’m here to help the Allies win the war in any way I can. If that means knocking a few teeth out of our own side, so be it. Maybe I’ll even make a necklace out of them.”

“That’d really make the Krauts run for the hills.”

“I may need to find a new title for myself,” Darcy laughed, sitting down beside him with a smug little grin. “The Keeper of the Teeth, perhaps? The Facesmasher? The Face _masher?_ ”

Bucky made a face, holding back a laugh. Oh she was _glorious._  “Not nearly scary enough. Y’need something that will _really_ make them shit themselves something terrible at the mere mention of it.”

“Well, the German’s around here usually _do_ when they see my weapons.”

“What do you use?” Darcy’s tone didn’t indicate that it was normal, Army issued weapons that she wielded. Bucky’s eyes flickered over her slim form, looking for any indication about her weapon of choice, but found nothing.

Darcy’s eyes positively glinted in mischief. “You’ll see soon, Sarge.”

 

‘Soon’ turned out to be the following day after dinner. Bucky was fresh out of his strangely Darcy-less evening run when he noticed the excited babble of voices, the whoops of excitement as the men made their way over to the forest clearing designated for hand-to-hand combat training. Only at this hour it was usually deserted, not consisting of jovial soldiers pushing their way forward through the trees. Catching his breath slightly, Bucky joined the jostling crowd, thoroughly curious.

His first sight was Steve clad in his singed yet still durable uniform, though missing his helmet. On his arm was his shield, hanging by his side at present. He was talking to someone, smiling at them. A challenge, Bucky surmised from the way he was shifting his weight from foot to foot, like a lion about to pounce. Bucky slipped through the crowd, peering over the heads of a few men shorter than him at the challenger. He felt himself stiffen from utter surprise.

Darcy was the challenger. Only she didn’t quite _look_ like the Darcy he had met and knew; her light and breezy smiles were broad smirks, eyes glittering with a playful malice. Her body was clad in a scandalously fitting black army outfit, the collar high and coming to the middle of her throat. He didn’t dare look at her marvellous legs. Once more her lovely brown hair was tied back in a ponytail, only this one seemed more severe, making the contours of her face more apparent than ever before in the mixed light. She sidled towards Steve with a grace that befitted that of a jungle cat, hips swaying back and forth – there was no way you couldn’t not hear the catcalls and whistles from the men encircling them, the whispered bets being placed. And in her hands-

Swords. One in each hand, long and glittering, a bright silver that was not too far off white when the light hit them. Darcy spun them with ease, catching them together with a loud _scree_ and shower of small sparks.

“They done this before?” Bucky asked the fellow next to him who had placed a bet. In favour of which, he hadn’t caught.

The man chortled and nodded, craning for a better view. “Oh yeah. Few times before, on the sly. Girl’s a spitfire, I tell ya! Damn near took his head off the first time they sparred. We was all rooting for the gal. Think Cap still has the evidence on his shield, matter o’ fact.”

 _Christ-!_ What was Steve playing at? What was _Darcy_ playing at? There was alleviating boredom during war and then there was literally dancing with death. Those blades looked like they could cut through anything.

He was so wrapped up in his alarming thoughts that he missed the initial clash of sword and shield; the crowd let out a collective cheer as they did, pushing as close as they possibly dared. Bucky watched the fight and damn near held his breath.

The first time Bucky saw the Spectre in action, he was both parts awed and terrified. She wielded her blades like they were extensions of her arms, thrusting and cutting through the air with ease, forcing Steve to take evasive action. It was like a dance the way she moved, spinning and tumbling away whenever Steve so much as moved his shield towards her.

 As the dance of death wore on, Bucky began to understand that this wasn’t so much as a sparring match as a one-sided game for Darcy, because Steve simply could not get anywhere near her. Near enough to strike at her with his shield, at least. She was quicker than the devil himself fleeing holy ground with his ass on fire. Steve had told him that the reason why he had been chosen specifically was because of his good heart, his selfless nature. Bucky had to wonder just what the doctor had been seeking when he chose to take on Darcy. She and Steve couldn’t have been anymore unlike in their battle styles. But to his credit, Steve kept up with her with ease. The pair were on equal footing when it came to stamina.

Bucky could see for himself that Steve was growing frustrated; his brows were furrowed, his jaw set and eyes utterly focused on the task at hand of subduing Darcy. He’d make one tiny little mistake and Darcy would seize her moment to pounce, that he was sure of.

It came just minutes later when Darcy enticed Steve close, feinting a move to the left to force him to dive right; it was all she needed to kick the shield from his hands and into the baying crowd, parting them with a shout of alarm and boyish excitement. Darcy swept his feet from beneath him and sent him crashing to the ground, not giving Steve a chance to climb back up as she pointed both her blades at the hollow of his throat; she grinned in fierce triumph, victorious in battle. “I do believe that I win, Cap.”

All at once the audience either groaned or cried out in disbelieved laughter, money or cigarettes changing hands in accordance to bets. Bucky glanced to the man he’d talked to, surprised that he was laughing and toasting Darcy with a fistful of cigarettes. In fact, it seemed like most of the men had placed a wager on the woman.

A look passed between Steve and Darcy, completely unnoticed by the crowd around them. It was fleeting, nothing more than a knowing smile from Steve and nod of gratitude from the woman. _You sneaky bastards,_ Bucky realized with a growing smile, eyes flickering to the faces surrounding him, for in that moment no one could say a bad word against Darcy. She had proven her skill and talent in a field that they all had experience in, gaining their respect. No, it wasn’t about winning at all. It was about gaining Darcy more acceptance and support in the ranks as both a woman and a soldier. And the plan was evidently working.

“So who thought this crazy plan up?” Bucky asked when the crowd dispersed enough to allow him to slip through. Darcy’s blades seemed even more lethal up close, shining like star metal as she sheathed them at her hips.

Steve rubbed at his lower back, nodding to the woman at his side. “Darcy figured that the men would respond to violence more than talk.”

Darcy laughed, placing both her hands on the hilts of her blades. “And I was right. Lapped it up like kittens at a saucer of milk, most of them. General knows about this but still lets it happen. Think he’s finally softening to my charms at long last.”

It would have to be a strong man indeed to be able to deny her addictive nature. “You’re a true gent,” Bucky smirked at his friend. “Letting the lady trash your ass.”

Steve wasn’t fazed. He removed his hand from his lower back, the ache in it finally ebbing away as it healed. “It’s for a good cause. And I don’t _let_ her beat me… I do try. She’s just so…”

“Fast,” Darcy supplied helpfully with no small amount of pride. “Awesome.”

“You know,” a new voice began in distain, “I’m rather hurt to see my toys being treated like this. Wounds my solitary manly feeling and all that.”

Bucky could only watch as Darcy’s face positively lit up with glee, spinning on her heels to face the speaker. The recognition took him aback, knowing the man’s face from some months ago. It took him back to his final night in New York before being shipped out to England: Howard Stark, the inventor and media darling. Or devil in some cases. Depended on how you saw his shenanigans with the fairer sex, Bucky thought.

He could only wonder if the car was actually hovering now, not a smoking, sparking pile of wreckage dragged from a stage.

Darcy threw herself into Stark’s arms without hesitation, wrapping them tight around his shoulders. The man chuckled, raising a hand and patting her back twice. “Darcy! You are a sight for sore eyes in this place. I mean, it has its… _charms_ and everything, but have you seen the toilet situation?”Howard Stark nodded to Steve. “Please remove the shield from the tree before I steal it back for the vibranium.”

Stark was holding her close, much too close. A flicker of annoyance sprung to life within Bucky’s chest at how her own chest was pressed against the man’s, voluptuous breasts flat against him.

At last, Darcy was let go. The man’s eyes travelled down to the swords at her hips. “I see you’re still bringing knives to a gunfight.”

“No, you can’t have them back.”

“Darcy, I have to remind your pretty little head that you _stole_ them from me. I turned my back for _two seconds_ and they were gone.”

“Well maybe you should have locked them up rather than leave them on show. Anyone could have just walked off with them.”

“Namely you. It’s a good job you’re so lovely to look at.” Bucky watched with his teeth clenched uncomfortably as Stark raised a hand and brushed a finger across her cheek, running the line of her jaw. “You know, I could make you all sorts of tricks. How about-”

Darcy slapped his hand away, tutting. “Darling, it’s never going to happen. You can make me all the gadgets you want, however. I’ll take them off your hands. I may even kiss your cheek if you’ve done a good job.”

“Darcy-Lou, I _always_ do a good job” he purred, a slow and lazy grin spreading slowly across his face like spilled ink on fabric.

Steve cleared his throat, embarrassed at the scene before him. “This is hardly the time or place.”

“It’s war, Steven. Gotta take all the chances you can get. Are you still sighing longingly after our ol’ Pegs?”

Spots of red tinged Steve’s cheeks. Bucky almost laughed, but held his tongue out of respect for his friend. “How come you’re all the way out here?” Steve asked, crossing over to the oak tree and pulling the shield out with one swift tug.

Howard’s sharp eyes fixed themselves upon Bucky at his words, suspicion clouding his face. Darcy filled the unanswered question. “This is Sergeant James Barnes,” she introduced, patting Bucky on the arm and making his heart pick up the pace.

Surprise coloured Stark’s face for a split second. “Steve’s friend,” he greeted, thrusting out a hand and firmly taking Bucky’s own before he even had a chance to extend it. “Bucky, right? Cap told me all about you on the way into the HYDRA facility. Relieved to see you unharmed, Sergeant.”

On the surface, maybe he did seem normal. Bucky dared the man to dig a little deeper and discover the madness beginning to spawn beneath his skin. He nodded in acknowledgment. “Thank you, Stark. For your involvement in my release and making this punk tall. Steve told me you had somethin’ to do with that.”

“Wasn’t my job to stick the needles in his skinny arm. Good job too, they would have gone straight through him. God you needed a sandwich or two in you back then, Cap.”

Bucky glanced to Darcy, putting two and two together on how they had first met. “So you contributed to makin’ Darcy as well?”

“Now _that_ is a story worth telling. Funny one too, she-”

“No,” Darcy interrupted firmly, tips of her ears shining crimson. “We’re not telling that story. It gets more ridiculous every time you tell it, Stark. Contrary to popular opinion, you are _not_ a great storyteller. Nor truthful.”

Stark glanced around to ensure that no one was in earshot. Deeming it safe enough, he began talking. “Taking you boys and lovely lady to London. SSR have some of my lab set up there. We’re going to analyse the luminescent ammunition that Steve brought back from the HYDRA factory.”

 Bucky could scarce understand why the man’s eyes seemed to light up with childish excitement at the mere prospect of playing around with a force he couldn’t possibly comprehend. But to each their own, he supposed. Stark loved technology as much as he loved women.

“Hey James,” Darcy suddenly asked, looking at Bucky with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “You ever been on a plane before?”

He hadn’t, but he had a sneaking suspicion that he was about to find out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang head off to England. Bucky finds out more about Darcy and her swords.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow! 1000 hits and 100 kudos. I woke up this morning practically squealing with joy. Thank you so much for all the enthusiasm and comments! Your continued support keeps me writing away like a trooper about these pair of utter dorks.

In the end, Bucky was relegated to sick duty, patting a heavily travelsick Darcy awkwardly on the back while the rest of the men looked on, broad smirks spreading across their faces upon any eye contact.

“On second thought, Steve, I’m glad that you didn’t ask me to come on your crazy Austrian assault, cus’ I’m pretty sure that the only hope I woulda been was barfing on HYDRA.” Darcy groaned loudly as the plane rattled uncontrollably, catching a stray updraft. “Sweet baby Jesus and Winston Churchill, strike me down.”

One of the men snorted loudly, but swiftly covered it up with his hand, leaning to his friend and muttering something in French. The pair then burst out into raucous laughter, slapping each other’s knees from mirth, throwing glances Darcy’s way when they thought that neither she nor Bucky was looking.

Bucky had seen it all before growing up with Steve. He knew the little looks that bullies would give their target as they decided to prey upon them. “Yer must be a deformed woman,” one man had mocked Steve at fifteen, staring down at his slight form one day after school, barely past the gates. Bucky may have not been as tall as the fellow at such an age, but what he lacked in height he made up for in attitude, giving the man a fierce look and series of choice words involving an accusation that the man was most likely stepping out with his own mother. Bucky still liked that word: ‘motherfucker’ had a nice ring to it.

They’d promptly had to run when the man cracked his knuckles threateningly, giving chase, but the moment he was gone they fell behind a line of trash cans and finally burst out laughing, adrenaline running through their veins.

“Hey,” Bucky called in his best Sergeant’s voice, eyes narrowing at the pair. “Cut it out, or I’ll whoop both your asses without breakin’ a sweat.”

A look passed between the pair and they nodded to Darcy. “Sorry, ma’am,” they apologized quietly.

Bucky, feeling triumphant, turned to Darcy, fully expecting her to be surprised but pleased by his intervention. What he found instead was the mother of all glares, the woman rising to her feet with a sharp “I’m going to talk with Steve.”

As soon as the cockpit door snapped shut, a little harder than Bucky was expecting, there came a low whistle from the man opposite him. Dugan, he’d heard Steve call him. He hadn’t really met the team yet, reluctant to make friends only to see them die at a later date once again. “Yer in the doghouse now, Sergeant.”

“What the hell did I do?” Bucky almost growled, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Darcy don’ like being rescued like a princess in a tower. Sorry, dashin’ prince. An’ you two-” he struck out with a foot, kicking his back talking companions hard in the ankles. “Show some respect; the lady can beat both your asses with her eyes shut an’ arms tied behind her back.”

One of the pair chuckled, leaning back against the side of the plane. “Was only teasin’.”

“Course’ you were. Now shut up.”

Bucky rose to his feet and crossed over to one of the only windows on the plane, peering out; England was a multicoloured blur beneath them, nothing but smudges of green for fields and streaks of beige, grey and brown for the villages. He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the cool glass. He didn’t mind the flying. It felt like riding the rollercoaster at Coney Island when they hit an updraft or whatever it was called though. Quite frankly, Bucky was shocked that Steve wasn’t faintly green like Darcy was for the majority of the journey. But then, Steve had changed. Drastically, yet not at all. It was the damndest thing. When he opened his eyes again and glanced down, the green of the endless fields of England was gone, replaced instead by the dark grey of destruction.

London was in a right old state. Bucky could only stare at the sight of the bombed out buildings, the almost endless piles of rubble and tendrils of smoke visible even at this height. And he could see the pinpricks of people scouring the odd pile of stone and wood, tossing objects out of the mess. Homeowners trying to save precious heirlooms, perhaps? Or maybe looters, looking for whatever they could get their hands on. If so, Bucky hoped they caught the bastards and put a bullet through each their brains.

He stilled at his violent, errant thought. War _changed_ a man. Too often he found his thoughts erring into darker territories without consciously realizing it, hands turning into fists at the mere thought of HYDRA. Bucky told himself that he’d deal with the murderous thoughts if it meant setting HYDRA on fire, eradicating their filth from the planet. Both revenge and righteous fury.

“Hey Barnes!” Dugan suddenly called, alarmed. “Don’ punch the glass! Don’t wanna get us all sucked out, do ya?”

Bucky flexed his stinging hand, pressing his forehead back to the marvellous cool of the glass, feeling his chest tighten to the point he could scarce breathe. What had Darcy said? Breathe and concentrate on the evenness of his breaths, counting each one of them. Gulping down air and choking out gasps, he did, eyes tight shut in concentration. Bucky could feel the eyes on his back, both judging and weighing if they should intervene. Thankfully they remained silent and let him get himself out of the deep dark hole he’d created.

“Flyin’,” Bucky lied when he finally turned around, a light sheen of sweat across his forehead. “Don’t agree with me.”

It was better than admitting the shameful truth that he’d never felt so weak and powerless.

 

When they touched down on an airstrip just outside of London, Bucky felt almost zombielike, walking and replying to Steve’s questions without conscious thought. He only came to when the pair of trucks arrived and Darcy all but shoved him into one ahead of everyone else.

“Snap out of it,” she ordered, but gently, sitting down opposite him. “Don’t go to pieces on me now. Look - we’re in London; think about all the fancy teas and scones we might get to try if we’re on our best behaviour. I’m goin’ to petition Churchill himself that he send us some. Super soldier fuel, y’see. Utmost importance and all that.”

Bucky groaned, placing his head in his hands. “What if HYDRA is still inside me somehow? What if they’re turnin’ me bad? I feel so… angry, all the time. It’s clawin’ at my skin like some fuckin’ monster inside of me.”

“You’re not a monster, James. You just survived something goddamn terrible, and y’don’t walk away from something like that unscathed.” She patted his knee twice. “You’re much too pretty to be a monster, anyhow. Monsters look like Adolf Hitler. Have you seen his face? One look makes babies cry.”

“They can look like anyone, Commander.”

“Yeah, but not like you. Never like you.” She leaned back against the canvas, cocking her head at him. “What you need right now is a distraction. You want me to tell you bout’ my blades? Yeah, I saw you admiring the girls.”

Bucky looked up at long last and nodded wordlessly, prompting Darcy to continue. “Well, I can use guns, as you’ve seen for yourself. But hey, every idiot and their mother uses a gun in the army. When the enemy sees you coming with a gun, they’ve seen it all before. But blades like knights and assassins of old? That makes them pause and think. The smart ones stay out of my way, the dumb ones just rush in like fools.”

“Stark did say that you’d brought a knife to a gunfight.”

Darcy unsheathed a blade and laid it across her knees, running a finger gently up the middle of the shining metal. “Allies raided a cache of Hitler’s occult objects and found these squirreled away in a crate. They’d never seen a blade like it and asked Stark to check the composition of the metal.” She flicked the weapon, creating a low ringing sound. “Howard discovered that they were unlike anything ever seen before. You see the etchings around the handle, bleeding into the blade itself? It’s a story.”

Bucky took the blade and brought it closer, inspecting it for himself; Darcy was quite right, as he could see a series of patterns encircling the bottom portion of the blade. When Darcy slid out the second one, it was obvious they were a matched pair as the story on one blade carried on into the next; they depicted a series of what only could be described as executions and battles between groups of people, all wrestling for a sword surrounded by great power. In the last part of the picture, the sword was shattered and two blades replaced it. Swords that looked uncannily like the ones in the truck. What was more alarming was the fact the metal seemed almost warm to the touch.

“I don’t know where Hitler found these, but they’re not _normal,_ ” Darcy explained quietly. “The metal is not of Earth. The only thing closest to this is the Vibranium of Steve’s shield. Star Metal, Howard calls it.”

Bucky started, eyes flying wide. “Where are they from, then? Space?”

Darcy brushed a finger across the hilt of the blade in her hand. “There are runes hidden in the metalwork. _Ancient Norse_ runes,” she explained excitedly, patting the blade. “Vikings!”

“You mean like… myths? Legends? That dude with the hammer you learned about in history as a kid?”

“I _know,_ huh?” Darcy took the blade back and sheathed the pair of them, smiling at Bucky. “Hard to believe, isn’t it? And yet when you hold them, you feel… something. Like the metal is almost alive and hungry.”

The heat he’d felt, responding to his touch. Bucky had to nod in agreement, staring at the sheathed blades with something akin to fascination and wariness. “No wonder Stark was pissed you’d taken them.”

“Oh, he hated them,” Darcy snorted, rolling her eyes. “Said they made him feel ‘off.’”

Super soldiers and now maybe enchanted swords from the ass end of history. Bucky wondered where the hell normal had gone and when it was coming back. He shifted a fraction closer to Darcy. “How do you even train with swords? Do you jus’ pick it up and start swingin’?”

Darcy snickered, glancing up as Steve entered the back of the truck, nodding to him. “Not quite. I did a lot of dancing as a child. Before the war broke out I had plans to join the Royal Ballet School. It was my dream to dance on stage, and I was even good enough for it too. But they wouldn’t accept new students during the war and that dream ended before it could even begin. I was… angry. Angry at the war, angry at the ridiculous men who started it. I figured that the quicker the war ended, the sooner I could get back on track with dancing before I became too old to join.” She shrugged a shoulder, breaking eye contact with Bucky. It didn’t go unnoticed.

“...are you too old now?”

She nodded stiffly, swallowing hard. “Yeah. They only train girls up to nineteen. I turned nineteen a few years back. After that I thought ‘screw this’ and started trying to join the ranks. Hey, I made it eventually.” Darcy managed a shrug, letting out a weak sort of laughter. “I’m dancing now. And the stakes are higher than ever. As Shakespeare said, all the world is my stage now.”

Steve took a seat next to Darcy, setting his shield down by his feet. He flashed the woman a smile. “You’re a great dancer, Darcy. You would have gotten into the school. Hey Buck-” he glanced to his friend. “You remember that girl the street over when we were kids, bout’ eleven? She wouldn’t stop dancing.”

“Oh yeah, Elizabeth. Lizzie.” Bucky laughed at the memory. “She was what, like sixteen? Danced everywhere. Crossin’ the street, down the sidewalk, nowhere was safe. Drove her mother to distraction. Didn’t she marry some Mayor’s son a few years after that?”

“Yeah, he hit her with his car. Took her to the hospital and I don’ think they ever separated after that.”

Darcy snorted loudly. “Romantic (!)”

Bucky stared at the canvas opposite as the truck roared to life, thinking about the last letter he’d received from Rebecca, a month before his untimely ‘death.’ The huge bombshell she’d dropped in her postscript, almost as a hesitant afterthought.

_P.S. I got married last week. He’s a British RAF pilot._

Steve didn’t even know yet. “Becky got married,” Bucky suddenly announced gruffly, fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve. “Some British flyboy.”

A pause. “She did?” Steve exclaimed, surprised. “You get a letter from her? What’s his name?”

“Before Azzano. And I don’t know, she didn’t tell me.”

“Buck…” Steve’s tone took an almost horrified turn. “Please tell me they know you’re alive. Tell me they weren’t sent a condolence letter.”

“They did get one, just after you left camp.”

“Jes-!” Steve groaned, rubbing his palm across his forehead. “And now?”

“They were sent someone to tell them in person that I was alive, and to offer them the US Army’s most sincere apologies for the mistake. That’s the last I heard of them.”

Steve just shook his head. “Write to em, Buck. Tell them yourself that you’re alive. God, if I had known, I would have-”

“What do I tell ‘em?” Bucky snapped uncharacteristically, clenching his jaw. “That I was a prisoner of war, captured behind enemy lines and tortured? Pumped full o’ somethin’ evil?”

“Just tell them that you’re _alive,_ Bucky,” Steve urged patiently. “If you won’t send a letter, I will. Your ma must be goin’ out of her _mind!_ And Rebecca…”

Bucky shook his head with a growl. “Don’t you think I don’t know that? I can’t find the right _words_. Every time I try to put pencil to paper, _nothin’_ comes.”

“Steve,” Darcy interrupted quietly, “lay off a bit. He’ll write a letter in his own time.”

Steve did stop after her intervention, but he still shook his head in disapproval, staring up at the dark canvas ceiling of the truck. He meant well, Bucky knew that, but it wasn’t so easy no more to find the right words to put in a letter. Each word seemed almost inferior, a fake cheerfulness. He should have sent the first letter he wrote, Bucky reasoned with his eyes closing. It was full of lies, saying that he was completely fine and the army had made a huge mistake and he had never been in any danger. It would have made his ma sigh in relief, but the thought of sending her bullshit, even with good intentions, sat uneasily upon his stomach. He couldn’t make himself do it. It wasn’t right.

 

They were taken to a hotel near the middle of the bombed out city, half of its west side missing. Bucky had never seen such a large hotel, for even half destroyed it was a thing of beauty and magnificence with its honey coloured stone and fancy windows. It transpired that the part hit was the kitchens and storerooms, completely separate from the rest of the building. Structurally it was sound, but no one would stay in the building, the wealthy owner living abroad in some hot country out of the way of war. Because of its sheer size and convenience in the middle of the city, the SSR took control of it until further notice as a place to house workers.

Bucky had never seen such opulence. Even though the carpet in the parlour was dusty, he still sunk into it by a few inches. He swore later on that he’d take his boots off and let his feet feel something soft for the first time in weeks.

Darcy came in with Howard, hands set atop each hilt of her strange swords. Some strange black contraption was hanging around her neck on a cord of leather. “Come on,” Stark laughed, taking her elbow with a wide grin. “It’s the master suit. It’s huge. And it has its own swimming pool of a bath in the room.”

“Howard, Sweetcheeks, I wouldn’t share a room with you if you were the last man on earth. Go and pester Steve, he might agree to your madness. I eagerly await your marriage announcement to him.”

“But I gave you a present! You’re so cruel to me, Darcy-Lou.”

Bucky watched as Darcy raised her hands and snatched up the contraption, turning to the man and pressing a few buttons, hearing a loud _click_ as something happened. Was that a… camera? “There!” the woman exclaimed, tugging something from the depths of the camera and holding it gingerly by the corner for a moment. “Your ugly mug. I’m going to tack that up on my bedroom door and find a set of darts from the billiards room to throw at it.”

 “Hey, I beat those Polar guys for you. The DAR-C is one of a kind.”

“Just like I am. And it’s Polaroid, Stark. At least get the company you stole the plans from’s name right.” Darcy caught Bucky’s eye and he could have swore that he saw something almost like apology in them. “Well,” she announced tartly, breaking the connection, “Two’s company, but three is a crowd. I’m already sharing with James.”

Howard seemed to notice him then; Bucky registered the surprise and shred of annoyance in the man’s face at Darcy’s words. Bucky nodded and raised a hand in greeting.

Stark rolled his eyes, exclaiming almost theatrically, “Foiled once again.”

When he left, Bucky walked over and raised an eyebrow quizzically. “He botherin’ you? Because I don’t mind rippin’ him a new one if he’s been handsy.”

Darcy actually giggled. “Oh, never. No, the sensation of disappointment is rather brand-new to him. He’s never found something he wanted this badly but couldn’t buy or charm. Howard doesn’t want me, not really. It’s more a game now.”

“Then why’d you say you were sharin’ with me?”

“Because he never would have believed me if I had said Steve – could you imagine his face if I even brought up the subject of staying in his room? – and you’re someone Howard doesn’t know.” She smiled, reaching up and adjusting his crooked collar. “Besides, you’re very easy on the eyes, Sergeant Barnes. Positively adorable when you don’t have your ‘murder eyes’ thing going on.” Before Bucky could blink or even fathom a reply, she raised the strange camera and snapped a photo of him. A minute later and the picture was appearing right out of the device itself. For all Stark’s flaws, Bucky was impressed.

Darcy blew on the photo, smiling at it once the shades of grey bled through, forming a perfect picture of Bucky looking politely confused. “Perfect. I’m gonna put this right next to my bed so at least _something_ in my room is pretty.”

Did she just… call him pretty-? Bucky almost tripped over his own words, surprising himself in his eagerness. “So… we’re not sharin’?” he asked almost hopefully.

“Nope. I snore and cling like an octopus to whoever is nearby. Anyway-” Darcy wafted the photo of himself in Bucky’s face. “I’m off to snag the master suit before Stark and _really_ piss him off. See you tomorrow. You dodged a bullet there, Barnes.”

“Yeah,” Bucky muttered as she walked away, swords swinging at her hips. “Haven’t I…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A+ if you can guess which sword of Norse legend inspired Darcy's pair.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rousing discussion on other... effects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild new chapter appeared! Inspiration punched me square in the stomach at long last and made me continue. Thank you for all your lovely comments and continued support for this story!

Bucky paced for near an hour before finally lying down to get some semblance of sleep. It took a few tries, but he at last gained a couple of hours by placing his jagged hunting knife beneath his pillow, one hand wrapped firm around the handle. As a child it was a threadbare, handmade dog called Pig with an eye missing that comforted him at night. How times changed.

When he woke up fully, dawn was still at least an hour away according to the soft blue attempting to stain the horizon. And he felt restless, not rested. There had been no bombs for the last week, so London was a vast ocean of darkness, no bright orange flames to behold when he jerked the curtains aside and stared out over the city. Blackout was still in effect, so he didn’t bother lighting a candle or strike a match. Instead he pulled up a chair to the wide dormer window and peered out into the shadows of the city, attempting to make out the notable and familiar shapes on the London skyline. But it was impossible and he soon gave up.

But here he was, Bucky told himself with a low chuckle. Here in bonny ol’ London. Oh, how he and Steve had dreamed of visiting England all their lives, pouring over clippings in newspapers as children and listening keenly at the wall of Bucky’s neighbour to hear the wireless since they could not afford one of their own. The country just seemed so sophisticated, an entire world away with women who boasted the most lovely accents. They were a brave people also, sporting a stiff upper lip during the trials and tribulations of the war. Bucky recalled fondly during his youth where he and Steve had concocted a harebrained scheme to sneak aboard a ship bound for Southampton docks, or perhaps Liverpool. And then, when they arrived, they’d run like stink so the cops didn’t catch them and head right up to London to make their fortunes.

It was a ridiculous idea, really. They’d both known that. But it was also insane and fun, a plan they’d never dare bring to fruition. After all, America was home. No matter what. How could they possibly leave that behind?

And yet, here they were. Here _both_ of them were! Steve could do his sketches of Big Ben after all. Though why you’d need such a large clock tower mystified the pair of them. Couldn’t folks tell time? England was… odd. Here they called their fries ‘chips,’ and their chips were crisps! And… never mind. Whole other fucking world indeed.

And was it scone or _scone?_

 

Dawn did arrive eventually, shining hot pink shot through with gold over the cityscape. Bucky unearthed the old, rather battered wireless from beneath the bed and set it up, tuning it until he finally found a station playing a song. It was some old Mozart, familiar and safe, a tune that his mother would hum whilst going about her daily chores, his father away working at the tiny family business in the city. He began dressing whilst humming along, digging out his fresh gear he’d folded neatly into his pack, shrugging on his steely-blue jacket over the lot to combat the morning chill. Upon glancing at the ground outside, he could see evidence of a frost.

Then again, it _was_ December. God… he was losing track of time, the months flying by something terrible around him. Christmas would be soon enough. A pang of loneliness swept over him as he thought of Rebecca, of how they’d always go hunting for a tree. Not too skinny, not too fat. Like Goldilocks he joked often, but without the porridge. This year she’d be searching alone or not at all. Hopefully their mother would drag her out. She or her British flyboy of a husband if he was somehow there on leave or discharge. He prayed that the man was good enough for his sister.

Still he had not penned a letter to them. What a cold, unfeeling son he must be, Bucky thought, thoroughly ashamed.

They played the powerful, soaring tones of Winter next on the wireless. Maybe that Vivaldi fella Bucky thought vaguely. Steve would know for sure – he was into that kinda stuff. Bucky usually fell prey to the exuberance of swing and jazz. Save for the classical pieces he knew for sure, they all sounded the same to him. All piano and violin, soft tones and never-ending.

A brisk and enthusiastic knock came at the door. “Hey Barnes! Present for you!” Darcy called, so unfailingly cheerful as she always was. “Open the door or I’ll be forced to pick the lock. I can do that now.”

Almost robotically he turned off the wireless and trudged over to the door, unlocking it. The door was barely open when, chattering away, Darcy pushed her way inside. “So! The board wants briefing at dawn as to our mission objectives, I go down because Captain America is apparently Captain Jetlag and I thought I’d be nice to him. Being a super soldier and Commander as well an’ all.” Darcy threw open the rest of the curtains fully, bright sunlight now streaming into the room. In her free hand she held a bulky cardboard square box with a length of string escaping it. “You with me so far?” she threw over her shoulder at him.

“Uh-?”

“Good. So! I’m down there in the basement, about to head into the big cheese room with all the huge Brits in when the guards have the sheer audacity to shove me away so hard I almost fall over. I explain who I am – obviously – and they _laugh_ in my face! Like fuckin’ hyenas at that! They cackle about how I am nothing more than a deluded little girl playing at war, and that the Spectre is a man. Do you think I overacted in breaking both their noses?”

“I-? Uh...” he was still trying to process her swift, angry words. “Not at all?” Bucky hazarded, relieved when Darcy nodded furiously in agreement.

Darcy sighed in frustration, turning to face him fully. She reminded Bucky of a hurricane in a glass jar. Or a tiny tornado, ready to let rip through a valley. “So now I have been banned from the official briefings, pending investigation. Why? Because I am a woman and _much_ too emotional to be involved in such delicate affairs. I should be cooped up in a house somewhere in the New York suburbs playing happy families with my spawn and doting on my dumbass husband. Also, present! Kinda-” she thrust the cardboard box into his chest, eyes still ablaze with fury.

Bucky ignored it for a moment, frowning deeply. “That wasn’ right of them. Steve’ll knock em’ down a peg or two when he finds out, you know he will.”

“I shouldn’t _have_ to rely on Steve to react accordingly. If _he_ had thumped em’ like that, nothing would have happened. Actually, no! They would have reprimanded the idiots that dared speak to him like that. But no – he has a cock and I have funbags. I am nothing more than an _emotionally unstable_ woman playing a game I do not understand because my mind is too _simple_.” Darcy threw herself into his vacated chair, crossing her ankles and arms. “Anyway, rant over. I’m done. Open your present. It’s from England, not me, so you know it’s gonna be shit. They didn’t even let me have a scone, yknow?”

Bucky set the box down upon the tiny table next to her and opened it carefully, running his thumb beneath the flap and flipping it open. Peering inside, he snorted with barely concealed amusement, lifting the gas mask out and letting it hang upon his little finger, leaving it dangling precariously. “They serious?”

“As a heart attack. Protocol is to keep one on you at all times now after all the raids. Gas attacks imminent and all.”

“Where’s yours then?” Bucky slowly lowered the mask back into the box, firmly shutting it back up. It smelt… weird. Had someone died in the thing, perhaps?

Darcy waved a hand, apparently unconcerned. “A gas mask ain’t gonna save me if my time is up. Plus, complete pain to try and train with one hanging around your neck like a dead animal. I suppose I could bludgeon someone with it though…”

She had a point there. It _was_ big and bulky. Ugly also with huge, protruding glass eyes. And furthermore, Bucky was fairly sure that Hitler hadn’t resorted to gas anywhere yet. He could be wrong, but he was certain that it was only incendiary bombs and exploding shrapnel that had been hitting the cities of late. “If I die from gas, well, that’s on me. But I ain’t wearing that cumbersome thing.” Bucky promptly tossed the box onto the bed where it bounced onto the floor.

“Oh good!” Darcy grinned, unfolding her arms and resting her hands atop her stomach. “Steve refused too. I’m gonna ask Howard to make a small, portable version. He’s a peach – I bat my lashes just enough and he’ll do anything for me, I swear.”

Jealousy gnawed at the pit of Bucky’s stomach. “So you… and him?” he began awkwardly, hand gesturing somewhere near his chest. What the hell was it even doing? “You’re both involved?”

Darcy grimaced and gagged theatrically, bringing a hand up to her mouth for added effect. “Howard and I? Hell no! I wasn’t just actin’ last night, y’know? He is swell and all that, but he’s not my type. The only person that Howard Stark loves is Howard Stark. Well, that and his inventions. Shame he can’t marry them. Or himself.”

That was… a relief? Bucky could almost _feel_ the weight pressing down upon his chest lift instantaneously. Damn, he was pathetic, mooning over a lady like he was an adolescent once more. “Sorry,” he apologized, sincere.

“S’ok. You’re not the first to ask, and I doubt you’ll be the last if he keeps makin’ me all these goodies-” she patted to her chest where her new portable camera – the DAR-C – sat, shining silver in the light. “Anyway, how are _you,_ James? Still feeling strange? Catatonic? Away with the sugarplum fairies?”

How _did_ he feel? “Tired,” Bucky arrived at, rubbing at the back of his head distractedly. “Exhausted. I still don’t sleep so well.”

Darcy pouted, adjusting herself in her seat; Bucky heard the soft clinking of her beloved swords as they collided into her hip at the sudden movement. “Really? Hmm… Well, your body shall adjust fairly soon now with how long it’s been. Have you experienced any other effects yet, perhaps?”

Other effects? _More?_ “What other effects?” he demanded, heart pounding in his chest. Bucky already felt the increased metabolism keenly, frustrated at how easily he got hungry now. That and how he could no longer get drunk. When things got bad, he couldn’t even count on the familiar buzz of alcohol to settle his nerves and distract him.

“You know the main list already from me and Steve: faster reflexes, eyesight, metabolism and better senses in general. That includes healing at an accelerated rate, very handy – tripped over a chair last night and broke my finger. This morning it was fixed up.”

Bucky snorted. Now that sounded just like Darcy; perfect balance and senses and she still managed to fall over _something._

“But the fine print is the things they don’t tell you.” Darcy dropped her voice, eyes glittering with mischief as she leaned in towards him. “Mainly the increased libido and graphic dreams.”

He stared for a long moment, processing but not getting very far. “You yankin’ my leg?”

Darcy smirked like a beauteous fallen angel. “Not at all. You’ll be yankin’ yourself soon enough, and it won’t be your leg.”

She was brash. Beyond brash. How outspoken was she already _before_ the serum took that and ramped it up, exactly-? Bucky suddenly felt a tad hot beneath the collar, considering her words. “You’re bein’ serious?”

“Completely. Everything is heightened, remember? I don’t think they even considered that. Hey – if they isolated the right compound in that super juice that’d be one hell of an aphrodisiac.”

“So…” How did he ask this without seeming like an utter and complete pervert? “Has Steve experience this?”

Thankfully, Darcy ignored his almost incoherent blustering. Bucky felt for sure that she’d at least giggle at him. It was strange, completely unlike him. The serum was changing him, that he was certain. But into what, exactly?

“Steve _claims-_ ” she rolled her eyes, betraying her disbelief, “that hard running and exercise is all he needs to keep a handle on it. But your best friend is a bullshitter, Sergeant Barnes; America’s Greatest Hope and Saint forgets that I have ears as sharp as his own now, and I know for a _fact_ that he gets much too friendly with his manly American hand when he thinks everyone asleep.” Darcy shuddered, a look of disgust flashing across her face briefly.  “It’s like someone let a wild boar lose with all the _grunting._ ”

Oh, fuck.

“Doll, that was really somethin’ I did _not_ need to know!” He was never going to be able to look at Steve the same way again now. Never. Not after that. Goddamn Darcy and her lack of filter!

“Yeah, well, now you can share in my agony. And know to pick the room farthest away from Steve’s. Consider it an early Christmas present from me.” Darcy rose to her feet, groaning softly as she closed her eyes and straightened up; Bucky’s sharp ears caught the soft sound of her back popping. “I’m nice like that,” she sighed softly.

“What about you?” Bucky ventured before he could shut his mouth up. “Does it affect, uh, women also?”

Darcy slit one eye open, gazing at him. Bucky got the distinct impression that she was x-raying him, considering her words. “Steve wasn’t as bad as this when he asked, y’know? Though he _was_ as red as you are now, come to think about it.”

So that’s why his cheeks were uncomfortably hot. “I wasn’t tryin’ to pry, Darcy,” he apologized in a low voice. “I’m sorry if I came across that way. It wasn’t my intention.” He was just… curious. And probably a pervert after all.

 _Now_ Darcy giggled, walking over and clapping a hand to his shoulder. She stared up at him, an angelic grin upon her pretty little face. “I know. I’m just messin’ with ya. Yeah, it affects women also. And unlike Steve, I am not shy in submitting to my urges. Make of that what you will. I’ll see you later James, shall I?” Flashing him a cheeky wink and ghosting her lips against his cheek, she made her way back over to the door, letting her fingers trail and dance across his shoulders and chest as she went. The door snapped shut, leaving Bucky with his body painfully hot and very certain parts of him aching and straining.

Bucky decided in that moment that Darcy Lewis Carter, the Spectre, was in fact a downright fuckin’ tease. And he just might be a little bit in love with the woman and her boldness. But who would make the first move once all the playful teasing became too much and escalated, if it did? Bucky pondered the thought for a moment, coming to a clear decision that if she didn’t make a move, he sure as hell would.

 

Steve frowned deeply, glancing up from his seat at the breakfast table as Bucky threw himself into the chair at his side. No more than two plates sat before him, each one empty. The newspaper beneath the porcelain was pinned open on the sports page. “You okay Buck? You’re flushed.”

Darcy sat at the end of the long table, deep in conversation with Howard Stark. It was impossible to miss how their voices rose as they began to argue about something. Bucky heard the words ‘bacon’ and ‘that was mine!’ from Howard, then an answering bark of laughter from the Spectre. He tuned out the din and focused back on Steve. “I’m good. Didn’t sleep too well is all.”

“You’ll get back to normal.” Steve flashed him a comforting smile. “In time.”

Bucky certainly hoped so; the shadows beneath his eyes were so dark and deep that Dugan had chuckled upon meeting him in the hallway that morning, asking if he was wearing Darcy’s black eye shadow. The only reply offered had been a glare. Was it that noticeable now? Fuck.

“Yeah, I know.” He helped himself to water, not realizing how parched he was until then. “Heard Darcy got into an… altercation this mornin’.”

Steve sighed, almost inaudible. “British don’t trust her. Think she’s a spy of some description, or some joke we’re foisting upon them. Doesn’ help that some of the team are wary of her also. They won’t outwardly admit that of course, but it’s plain to see. Dugan likes her, but he’s only one man. They’ve not seen her in action.”

A soft laugh. Didn’t _they_ have a shock coming? “Yeah, well, let them wait and see when she’s out in the field with us.”

“Bucky.” Steve dropped his tone, inclining his head closer. There were no guards in the room, but that didn’t mean there were no ears listening. “They’re not lettin’ her come. Brits want her to remain here at Command where they can keep watch for influence.”

“What the-?!” Silence fell briefly as Bucky growled out a line of vehement swearwords. Howard let loose a low whistle. “You kiss your mother with that mouth, Barnes? Fuck, this is Britain. Show some decorum.”

Scowling, Darcy jabbed her elbow hard into his ribs. Bucky heard her scold him. “You’re one to talk, Howard Foulmouth.”

Bucky growled. “Like hell she’s staying here. They blind as well as stupid?” he spat through gritted teeth. He didn’t care that it sounded like he was taking it personal, because he _was._ If it wasn’t for Steve, Darcy would still be back in that tiny camp in the ass-end of nowhere, trapped and unable to escape. And she _deserved_ her freedom. Recognition also. She was as capable as any man here. No, more! None of them could wield one blade, let alone two. And none of them were a super soldier, the first of her kind. Did that mean nothing to them?

Steve set the dirty plates aside, piling them up on each other with a clatter. “She’s not stayin’ here. When we move out tonight, she’s comin’ with us whether they like it or not. We’re driving down to the coast, then flying over the Channel to France. Even if Stark’s plane gets us in undetected as hoped and we meet our contact off the coast, we’ll still have a battle on our hands when we head through German occupied territory towards Poland. And that’s without HYDRA interference.”

Hearing Steve’s words, it suddenly felt so… real. They really were doing this suicide mission, taking down HYDRA factories.

“This is it, huh? Saving the world an’ all?”

“If only it was that easy,” Steve mused. “Didn’t they once say that everyone’d be home for Christmas?”

Bucky chuckled, bringing his palm flat against his friend’s back in a good-natured slap. “Look at the bright side, yeah?”

“And what’s that?”

“You could still be performing and wearing ball-constricting tights.”

From across the room, Bucky heard Darcy snigger into her cup of tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I laughed way too hard writing this chapter. Is that bad? And is it scones, or SCONES? The struggle is real, my friends.
> 
> Across the sea we go next chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stand to attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have the first smut I have written in many years, so please be kind! As always, thank you for the lovely comments and awesome kudos! You are all so epic and supportive! Also, I'd love to connect with other Wintershock writers and readers, so feel free to send a hello at my [Tumblr!](http://thelastmorozova.tumblr.com)

 

Darcy whimpered at the sight of the aircraft. It was smaller than the one they’d flown over the Atlantic in, but Bucky could still spy the sheen of sweat break out over her forehead at the mere sight of it. He placed a comforting hand upon her arm, leaning in. “You can hold my hand if you’re scared.”

Darcy shot him a dirty look, debating slapping his hand away. “Don’t mock me, James; humans were not meant to fly.”

“Weren’t meant to be super soldiers either.”

A sigh and she took his hand, squeezing it tight as she gazed up at the monstrosity of a plane. At least it was Howard flying it. She didn’t trust anyone else to not kill them upon takeoff Bucky knew. “Stop being such a smartass and get on the plane.” Her free hand snuck around his body, patting his backside twice. Bucky raised an eyebrow at her action, prompting her to shrug a shoulder. “I don’t like Steve’s ass – it’s like two giant apples just shoved into his pants – so just let me enjoy this lovely view before we all end up plummeting to our fiery deaths,” Darcy added, prompting for him to head on first.

Then Dugan pushed his way between them without warning. “Y’mean me? My pleasure, Lady Darcy.” Bucky and Darcy groaned in union as the man swaggered onboard, bellowing out a laugh the second he disappeared within the body of the plane.

Darcy pressed a hand to her face, closing her eyes as she shook her head. Bucky was almost inclined to do the same. “The world is doomed. We are all going to fall to the Germans. Goodbye cruel world, it was nice knowing you.” She gestured to the plane, eyes still closed. Shaking his head, Bucky acquiesced and headed on; a glance back and Bucky met open eyes alight with mischief and a devilish smile.

Somehow he doubted that this mission was going to be anything but dull with her around.

 

To combat her issue with flying, Darcy pulled out a sleek and shining brown journal and sequestered herself away into a corner, scribbling away with only a few pauses. Eventually curiosity trumped Bucky’s desire to give her space and he walked over, setting himself down next to her. “What are you writing about?”

Darcy peered up from her writing briefly. “One day, history will talk about us and what we achieve here. I know my fate is to be left out in the pouring rain like a bad dog, and I am not prepared to let that happen; I am putting my life on the line as much as you guys are. If not more. I refuse to go quietly into the night, stuffed into the back of a classified file to be forgotten about.” She sighed, putting down her pen momentarily. “Does it make me selfish, James? That I want recognition?”

“Not at all, doll. Means you’re human.”

“It feels like selfishness” Darcy muttered, gaze fixed upon her writing. “It’s a ridiculous notion – a dream almost. But I want this… no…” she laughed, shaking her head and closing the journal with a soft snap. “No, it doesn’t matter.”

Bucky caught hold of her wrist as she made to shove the journal away. “Tell me,” he pressed softly.

“I… want to help others like me. Women.” Darcy shrugged, eyes still fixed upon where her journal had been sat upon her knee. “Not like a figurehead – I’m not clever enough for that – but something they could use to better their lives. I want to be _proof_ that we are not weak and should be locked away in kitchens, expected to be perfect servants to our husbands and cater to all his whims and desires. To be honest, I cannot imagine anything more horrifying than being married. It is at that moment we lose what little freedom we have.”

Women had it bad, Bucky knew that; it was impossible not to see the way all life seemed to drain away from their eyes as they grew older, got married and pumped out children. There were the exceptions, of course, but they were the lucky ones. Neither he nor Steve had ever seen the point in treating women in such a way, respecting them in ways their fellows never did. Bucky had thought as a young man that it made him odd, stupid to everyone around him and debated changing his views in order to fit in more smoothly. But then he realized that his views simply made him a more decent man and that everyone else could go to hell.

“It’s a very admirable dream, and you should chase it” he smiled, releasing her wrist. “Be sure to make me extra handsome in your descriptions about me, yeah? Maybe call me ‘dashing?’”

Darcy rapped him smartly around the head with the journal, but she was laughing. “I’ll give you a crooked nose and no teeth. You shall inspired terror at bedtime for young children. ‘Tell me about James Barnes, mommy! Was it true he resembled a Schnauzer?’ ‘He had the most evil moustache you have ever seen in your life! Every time he ate a child, it became extra curly!’”

“I’ve changed my mind – you are a cruel woman. And hey –” Bucky frowned, raising a hand to his face briefly. “I don’ look like a dog, do I?”

Darcy leaned in and patted his cheek twice, adopting a look of intense pity. “I’m afraid so. Your life after this war shall be travelling with a circus and headlining the Freak Show as the Dog Face Man.”

Bucky laughed so hard his chest ended up burning and he pressed his palm against his abdomen. It felt so… nice to laugh. The simple laugh was a rare, endangered species now after all. But Darcy always succeeded in wringing one out of him, one way or another. He was still chuckling when Steve came over, drawn by the loud laughter. “What’d I miss?”

Darcy spread her arms, announcing in a loud voice that filled the plane, “Presenting Captain Apple Butt of Brooklyn and the Spectacular Dog Face Man! Roll up people, a dollar look! Don’t be shy!”

Steve swiftly left again, thoroughly concerned for the chortling pair.

 

The flight was quicker than expected and soon the laughter died away into a more serious tone as they reached the dark shores of the France – Belgium border to the north of their location. Dawn was hours away, the dead of night cooling upon their skin even within the bowels of the plane.

Bucky checked the straps of his rifles before slinging them both onto his back, buckling them on securely. At the other end of the plane he could spy Darcy crouched beside her pack, shoving her journal into it. Steve was up front with Howard, as he’d spent most of the journey over the Channel. But a few minutes later and he was back, adorned in the new tactical gear and suit created especially for this mission. For a second, Bucky didn’t recognize him as the kid who frequently sported bloody noses and broken bones, but a squadron leader.

“We’re touching down in ten minutes,” Steve told them clearly, fiddling with the strap of his wrist. “Gonna be a bumpy landing on an uneven field, but Stark is certain that there is no communications or radar in the area, so we’ll be ghosts. When we land we bear east for two miles on foot through thick woods until we meet our SSR contact from France. They have trucks and gas waiting for us so we can continue the journey. Now-” he took a deep breath. “Not gonna lie, this is gonna be rough on us all. But we can do this. Every soldier here is the elite and they shouldn’t forget that for one moment.”

Yeah, Bucky thought as Steve finished. That kid from Brooklyn wasn’t calling the shots here.

Darcy was the first to speak, strapping her twin blades to her hips with a soft tinkle. “So that is why you spent so much time up front; perfecting your motivational speeches! I give you an eight out of ten for effort.”

“Darcy…” Steve just groaned, the moment over. “Get ready.”

 

The landing was as bumpy as promised and Bucky was fairly sure that he’d ended up cracking one of his back teeth from how hard they’d been jarring. Upon emerging onto the icy ground, it was in complete darkness, the engine of the plane the only warmth. He heard Darcy swear softly upon joining his side. “Fuck me; it’s colder than hell out here. Why can’t we do this in the summer instead?”

“Hell is hot, Spectre,” Bucky corrected her, no longer shocked by her terribly foul mouth.

“Nope. Not all of it – read Dante’s Inferno. There’s this one ring of hell that’s as cold as this. Reminds me of the last guy I stepped out with – they both had that in common. Though he had blue balls as well as a heart of ice.”

They moved out swiftly after checking their equipment was in working order, testing the communications that each had. Steve headed the group as they moved through shadowy forest, no moonlight to light their way. Darcy remained at the back, covering the rear. It was logical, Bucky knew; Darcy’s eyes were much sharper than Steve’s in the impenetrable night and could see danger from much further away than even he could. Bucky opted to remain near the rear also, ready to pick off any targets that came from a distance. He wondered if Darcy’s heart was pounding as hard as his was.

When they spied the log cabin nestled within the safety of the woods, the windows ablaze with light and smoke curling from the stone chimney, they breathed a low sigh of relief. Near the tree line sat two inconspicuous trucks covered with thick and dark canvas. Their rides. While Gabe and a few others went over to check the state of the vehicles, Bucky and the two super soldiers made their way to the cabin door. Bucky placed a hand upon the gun at his hip as Steve knocked twice, relieved to see Darcy do the same with her blades.

A voice called something through the wooden door, prompting Steve to reply in hesitant and slightly disjointed French. Bucky felt himself relax as the door opened to no gunfire and they were ushered inside into the glorious warmth of the cabin. Darcy made a beeline for the fire, pulling her gloves off and warming her fingers. Bucky was inclined to join her, but remained at Steve’s side as the man discussed plans with their contact, a dark haired Frenchman by the name of Pierre.

After fifteen minutes of hesitant talking, Bucky noticed Darcy’s taut shoulders as she still stood before the fire. He recognised her stance, realizing that she was listening intently to the two men as they talked behind her. He walked over under the pretence of warming his fingers also. “Why so stiff?” he asked quietly. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“Something doesn’t smell or sound right about him. Literally. I can’t put my finger on it...” She chanced a quick look over her shoulder, gazing at the young man. Bucky didn’t know what she was looking for, but didn’t question her instincts as she turned around and let a wide smile spread across her face. Then she strode forwards and shoved Steve aside, proceeding to-

Bucky and Steve just stared as the woman crushed her mouth to the Frenchman’s own, taking him utterly by surprise and rendering him motionless. She threaded a hand through his pitch-black hair and when it came away her fingers were stained black and smudged. “Got ya,” she breathed against his lips, driving a short and wicked dagger deep into the man’s hip without warning.

When Steve asked Darcy later on how she’d known so quickly about the imposter in their midst, she’d merely shrugged, stating that she’d stepped out with men from France before. “I’m a woman, Steven. And his French accent was really bad; I’m ashamed at you, and for Germany for throwing this kind of substandard shit at us.”

They found the real Pierre buried in a shallow grave just behind the cabin, clearly executed at point-blank range. Darcy tutted and proceeded to make the hole bigger, delving into the hard, icy ground without any trouble. No one interrupted her mission of creating a decent grave for the poor man.  

After finishing off the imposters food, they began to interrogate the man himself. Bucky left Steve and Darcy to handle that, stepping outside into the cold night air. He’d both seen and endured enough torture to want to witness any more.

Darcy joined him by the trucks an hour later as dawn began to creep upon the horizon, a large blanket draped around her shoulders that she shared with him. “Y’kill him?” he asked, drawing the fabric more around him. Bucky wasn’t sure if he wanted to know or not.

“No, we didn’t. Turns out he’s just a big kid who heard too much from loose lipped HYDRA soldiers and thought killing us all would get his family out of the situation they’re stuck in. Stupid, brave kid” Darcy sighed wearily, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. “Imposter’s family are in Paris, under close scrutiny since they’re originally from England. He snuck out of the city and came out here in desperation. I almost felt bad about stabbing him, but then I remembered that he killed the real Pierre. And without mercy if the hole in his head is anything to go by.”

“Desperation makes men do stupid things, doll.”

“I know. It still doesn’t sit right with me though.” She snuggled closer into him, seeking warmth from the night’s icy bite. Bucky leaned into her gladly, revelling in her closeness. “We were expected to arrive here in a few days or more according to our new friend, so we’ve a head start from anyone coming here to accost us. Steve says we’re leaving in an hour or so to make some ground and I agree with him. One more day and we would’ve had a battalion of Germans waiting for us.”

“What about the kid?”

Darcy closed her eyes, shaking her head a little. “Leaving him tied up to find. Boy doesn’t know where we’re going, or anything of the main plan. He just cobbled together this idea from the scraps of information he’d heard. God, it’s so freaking cold! Be a man and hug me James or I’m gonna turn into a Darcicle” she suddenly hissed, shuddering violently beneath the blanket.

With a low rumble of laughter vibrating in his chest, Bucky moved to pull her into his warm embrace, the blanket cocooning them. “That better doll?”

She hummed her assent, closing her eyes as she pressed her forehead to his chest. “As warm as toast.”

Toast. Goddamn it, he could really go for some hot, buttery toast at that moment. It was the pure, simple things that you missed when at war Bucky decided. Whether that was fresh bread or a mere hug like the one Darcy was giving him. He inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of her hair. Bucky expected her to smell distinctly floral as most women he’d stepped out with usually did, but instead Darcy was all woodsmoke and the familiar tang of metal. The combination was the very last thing he expected to cause such a swift reaction throughout his body, a hot rush shooting straight down to his groin.

Then Bucky realized with a dawning horror that he was pressed up against Darcy and she could feel every little thing.

Darcy cleared her throat quietly, forcing him to meet her eyes with a quiet shame burning within his own. “You’re standing to attention, soldier.”

“I know” he grunted, wondering if he should pull away now while he still retained some modicum of respect for himself. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to.” Was this the effect of the serum that she’d warned him about? What did that entail, exactly? Was he going to turn into some predator with its prey, chasing down women until they submitted to him and his rutting?

The thought made his blood run cold and wish that he’d asked Steve for more information about the whole situation.

“Is this because of me? Because if so, I’m flattered” Darcy teased with a light grin.

Oh shit. Bucky took a step back, unfamiliar shame rolling throughout him. “I’ll leave you be. Don’t want you thinking me a lecher after all.”

“Oh? Stay right there, soldier.” Darcy cocked her head curiously, draping the blanket further around her shoulders as he stopped moving away. “Never took _you_ for a prude, James. I thought that was Steve’s job?”

“I’m no prude” he retorted gruffly, breath coming out in a white cloud in the cold. “Far from it. I jus’… this is the serum, that fucked up shit they pumped into my body and not _me_. I don’t put my arms around dames and do that, Darcy. And I don’t want this monster inside of me to hurt you.”

Was she… giggling? Bucky just stared, utterly flummoxed as she raised a hand to her face and chuckled at him. “Sorry,” she apologized when her hand fell back down. “I am, truly. But James… the serum doesn’t turn you into a seductive monster. It merely enhances what is there already.”

“So-?”

“Don’t you find me attractive? Because I sure as hell find you easy on the eyes.”

He did. She was gorgeous, kind and admirable, the sort of woman that drew him to them like a moth to a flame. Not to mention that Darcy could handle herself, always so strong and independent. He’d never considered such traits so arousing before he’d met her. After all they weren’t his usual fare.

Bucky then realized that he’d said his thoughts aloud with Darcy stood right before him.

But Darcy didn’t walk away in disgust as he’d expect some woman from the well-to-do areas of New York to, but moved closer, catching the front of his jacket and using it to pull herself into him. Then she grinned up at him. “Stop overthinkin’ it all; I made that mistake at the beginning and it led to some incidents that I’d rather forget.” Her hand came from nowhere, slipping between them to palm at the aching throb between his legs.

“Oh fuck-!” Now he was rigid, desperate for release. Be that by his own hand or Darcy’s, he didn’t give a shit in that moment. Either would do.

“Too cold for that” Darcy laughed, pushing her hand flat against him. “But another time, I swear. Mmmn… I want to pull you into the back of that truck and work you over with my mouth, soldier. Work you until you can’t help but moan my name and nothing else.”

“Darcy, be serious-” he ground out, trying to make his hand catch her wrist and failing utterly. He couldn’t make himself move, frozen to the spot by her ministrations and such stark words.

A growl and she grasped the front of his jacket once more, leaning up on her tiptoes to crush her mouth against his with a bruising pressure. “Oh I am” she muttered against his lips. “Oh I so am, soldier.”

It was with weeks of desire and pent up lust that Bucky kissed her back, moving their bodies from their spot to the truck, pressing her up against the flat surface of the door to gain some leverage in grinding his hips hard against her thigh. He wound a hand into her hair and tugged a little too hard, but it only elicited the most glorious moan from between her lips. Realizing that she liked it, he did it again to the same response.

“Back of the truck” Darcy demanded breathlessly, hand sliding down to his rear with the blanket falling away onto the hard and frozen ground. “ _Now_ , soldier.”

“Yes ma’am” he replied instantaneously, walking over if he was caught in the haze of a dream. Darcy was grinning like the cat with all the cream in the world as he climbed in without the grace he usually possessed, following him in swiftly. After the canvas door fell down behind them, plunging them into semi-darkness, Darcy launched herself at him.

Darcy settled down upon his hips, knees either side of his body. Bucky thought for sure he was going to spontaneously combust as she began to grind against him in long, smooth movements, each one knowing exactly where to brush against. Now he was beyond positive that she wasn’t some wallflower. A fresh new moan tore from his lips as Darcy’s fingers moved down his body, deftly popping open the buttons keeping his erection at bay.

“Wait-” he rasped out, causing her movements to still.

“I do somethin’ wrong?”

“I don’t want ya to use your mouth if y’don’t want to. Your hand is fine too.”

Darcy cocked her head, gazing down at him. Bucky could see her confusion clearly even in the blurry half-light of the truck. “It’s only demeanin’ if I don’t want to do it, James. And I assure you that I _definitely_ want to do this for you.”

“Most girls don’t want to.”

A low laugh. “Yes, well… I’m not most girls, am I soldier? Now- are you going to be a good boy and let me take you all the way to heaven, or shall I leave you and let you go finish yourself off?”

Oh she was far, far from the ladies of New York now. Even those wild creatures that frequented the dance halls, twisting and turning with their bodies pressed close to his.

“It doesn’ look nice is all.” Who _willingly_ desired to suck a man’s cock after all? Camilla Green had done it for him before, his once and only experience, way down on her knees before him behind the late night dance hall on Coney Island two years ago now. She hadn’t enjoyed it in the least, storming off before he was finished and leaving him pissed off something crazy. And it had been _her_ idea! Hadn’t she spent the better part of two weeks persuading him to let her do it to him?

“Well don’t you worry about what it _looks_ like” Darcy grinned, shuffling further down his body until she was nestled between his legs and upon her knees, swords glinting at her hips like bright silver moonlight. “I want you to focus on how it _feels_ , soldier.” She freed him in one swift movement, tugging his pants open.

It was from the biting cold that Bucky now swore, flinching sharply. Darcy giggled again, offering nothing more than an “oops” as she tucked her hair behind her ears. “My mistake. Let’s warm you up, shall we?” And then she descended upon him.

The first touch of her mouth was like fire and Bucky thought for sure that he must explode now. But he didn’t, instead letting his head fall back against the floor of the truck with a dull clunk and a moan slipping from between his lips without warning. Darcy didn’t hesitate once as she worked, licking and sucking at his rigid shaft until she made good on her promise of making him gasp out her name, then begin to chant it like a mantra in the freezing cold night air. Her fingers stroked the base of his straining cock in time with her clever tongue and his hand found the back of her head, trembling fingers winding deep into her dark locks. Bucky tried hard to not push down upon her, to push move of himself into her wet and willing mouth, but it was almost fucking impossible not to. Darcy was sin incarnate, driving him to the edge of insanity and beyond.

And then he felt himself at last explode into flames, caring for nothing and no one nearby who heard his torrid stream of swearing intermingled with Darcy’s name.

Darcy was giggling again when the blinding white of the explosion finally drained from his vision, leaving the low dimness of the truck behind. His chest heaved, breaths coming out in ragged pants as he calmed himself enough to form a coherent thought. But it wasn’t easy.

“Fuck.”

“Tempting,” Darcy mused as she dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a handkerchief. She then leaned down over him, pressing her lips against his cheek with a loud smack. “Very tempting, but not even you in all your magnificent glory could make me strip off in this weather. When we’ve a real bed, soldier. Or at least a decent surface beneath us.” Bucky moaned as she brought her lips to his own, tongue plundering his mouth without hesitation. She was intoxicating, her mouth both heaven and hell and he was fucked either way.

Darcy reached down, tucking him away with a wide smile against his lips. After buttoning him back up, she patted the front of his pants twice. “I shall see you in an hour then, soldier. What do you say to me?”

“Darcy-”

“Nu-uh. Properly, soldier.”

“I… Thank you, ma’am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go strong and independent women during WW2!

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on Tumblr if you'd like! [ My Tumblr](http://thelastmorozova.tumblr.com)


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